This is me, with the only car on the entire planet that has any real value. You can keep your BMWs and Mercedes Benz - those Flash Harry's of the highroad that positively shrivel and whimper in its awesome presence. You can keep your Porsches and your Ferraris who look like nothing more than kiddies toy cars in comparison. This, is a Bentley Continental, and it has to be the most beautiful man-made thing I have ever seen, touched or smelled.

When I was young (BC - Before Children) I worked just off Berkeley Square in London, and every day I would walk past the HR Owen showrooms and look in at the gleaming, glowering beauty of the Rolls Royce and Bentley. Every day I would gaze upon these cars that represent so much, and every day I would know I was just a few breaths and a few steps away from the magnificence of the true Kings of motoring.

You might be forgiven for thinking I am a dyed in the wool petrol head and a fully paid up member of the Jeremy Clarkson appreciation society, but no... I do not like cars. To me they are like microwave meals, nasty, tasteless and bad for you. The car I own is small, silver and instantly forgettable. It transports me from here to there and back again in relative safety, and I am grateful. It's quicker than walking, but there is nothing more to it than that. There are millions of them, and each one was birthed, like a laboratory clone, with no passion, no inspiration and definitely no love. The makers know some uninspired punter will buy another one, and so we do...

But this car - this beautiful piece of excellence in engineering, fused with a passion that makes my blood tingle in my veins, has given me something I would not have believed. This car has spoken to me, and I have heard its voice - and now I am forever...in love.